


Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

by NovemberWings



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bulimia, Eating Disorder, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, FrUK, Hetalia, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure France, M/M, One Shot, Reassuring England, Sad France
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-22
Updated: 2015-12-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 12:42:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5497472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovemberWings/pseuds/NovemberWings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis wants nothing more in the world to be loved by that one small island nation, but he's not beautiful enough for him- he'll never be loved back. But maybe if he were thinner?</p><p>One shot. x</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.

France pulled his hair back into a pony tail as he looked in the mirror. He didn’t want to but he had to, he had to be loved by Angleterre. Maybe if he was more beautiful Angleterre would love him. He knelt down, feeling the cold floor of the bathroom through his trousers. He lifted the lid of the toilet up and placed one hand on the edge to steady himself. He lifted his other hand up to his mouth, trembling a little bit already anticipating the unpleased sensation, and shoved his fingers down his throat.

Normally he would have turned the tap on to cover the noise but he was in the hotel room on his own and only Angleterre had another key, but he was out with Alfred getting some milkshakes and would be a few hours.

He felt his gag reflex go and he lent forward pulling his fingers out of his mouth, bringing a trail of saliva with it. He moved his hand just before a stream of vomit left his mouth. He cringed at the taste- the idea of his wonderful food, some of the best food in the world tasting like it does now made him cringe.

He couldn’t remember where he had read it but every time he did this he just repeated it to himself. ‘Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’ He retched again and lifted his fingers to his mouth again, round 2. Before he put his fingers in his mouth he whispered to himself a few times ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels. Vomit tastes better than fat feels.” He said that to himself around 3 times before he placed his fingers in his mouth again and retched. Suddenly he heard noises at the door and his heart stopped. The door opened and he heard someone walk in.  
“France!” He heard a British voice yell. 

England ran into the bathroom and kneeled down next to France, and placed his hand on his back and started rubbing, trying to comfort him as he retched into the toilet. France felt his stomach hurt but that’s not because he was throwing up. France finished retching and pulled his head back away from the toilet. England stood up walking out of the bathroom and came back in with a glass of water and sitting down on the floor next to where France was kneeling by the toilet.

“It’s okay, buddy, here you go.” England said in his thick British accent as he placed the cup of water to France’s lips and tilted it slightly allowing France to drink some of the water that was in it. France felt the water going into his stomach and he didn’t like the feeling, but he guessed that it was okay because England was giving it to him.  
“Are you done being sick or is there more coming?” England asked rubbing his back.  
“Non, I think I’m done. Sorry Angleterre.” He said softly.  
“Don’t apologise you silly French sod. Let’s get you to bed come on.” England placed his arm underneath France’s and helped France to his feet and walked him to the bed. France sat on the edge of the bed and Arthur sat next to him.

Arthur let out a little laugh, “maybe your French food isn’t as good as you think it is then.” France felt a pang and decided to play it off as if he had a stomach bug.  
“How dare you insult my food, Angleterre.” He said with a little laugh, “You can’t talk about bad food mon amour.”  
“Shut your mouth, Francy.” England said but there was no malice behind it. He pulled back the covers of the bed. “Right get in.” England said with a soft smile. “We’re going to watch crap telly together.”  
“Don’t you have to be with Amérique?”  
“Err, no. He got a milkshake and then wanted to go back to the hotel room. Said that Matthew was waiting for him there. I didn’t argue.” France tucked his legs into the bed; they had agreed that France could have the queen bed and that England would have the smaller bed.

“I’m going to get into my pyjamas because I don’t plan on going out again today, we’ll call room service later for burgers or something. I’m going to listen to my tape that I leave in the room and then we’ll watch TV or a film or something, okay?” England said as he walked over to his suitcase to get his Pyjamas.   
“Tape?” France asked, a little worried.   
“Yes, I leave a tape to make sure the maids don’t take anything and if they do I have proof.” England said as he finished buttoning up his pyjama shirt. He walked over to the bedside table and knelt down and pulled a little box off from under it. He plugged headphones in and pressed a few buttons. 

After a few minutes of France sitting tensely waiting and England listening England pilled a face. Pressed a few buttons and frowned before taking the earphones off and unplugging the headphones. He pressed a button and then pressed play and France heard what he was dreading. Himself muttering over and over again, ‘nothing tastes as good as skinny feels.’

“France…” England said slowly, “Were you making yourself sick?” But France didn’t answer him. He didn’t make a noise. He didn’t even look at him. That was all the answer that Britain needed. Confusion and rage ran through England’s veins. Why? France, the cocky self-centred bastard was bulimic. It didn’t make sense, he always seemed so comfortable and confident.

England picked himself up off of his own bed and went to sit next to France. When he saw his face he saw silent tears falling down his cheeks.   
“Why?” England asked quietly, “It’s so unlike you, why are you doing that?”  
“I can’t tell you that, Angleterre. It would hurt you and I don’t want to hurt you.” France sniffled.  
“Well, you’re hurting yourself and I don’t like seeing YOU hurt. We’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. Do you understand me?” On the last sentence England grabbed France’s face and turned it towards him- not harshly but strong enough that France couldn’t resist. “Why? I know we have our differences and you are a fucking frog but we have each other- we always have and I goddamn hope we always will. When I was younger you picked on me and yes sometimes you were a massive arse but you protected me from Scotland and my other family. In nearly every actual dangerous fight I side with you. Yes I fought against you but they were only petty battles. I’ll stand with you France against any serious enemy, even if that enemy is yourself. Why are you making yourself throw up?”

France blinked a little thrown off by England’s speech. He never knew that that was what England thought.  
“I thought that if I were thinner…” He stopped talking, not really knowing what to say.  
“You thought that if you were thinner…what?” England prompted.   
“I’d look better…and you’d love me more.” France finished and let out a little sob. Before bringing up a hand to his mouth sobbing into his hand, trying to muffle the sound and stop the tears.  
“Oh, Francis…” England sighed as he pulled France into a hug and France sobbed into his shoulder. Between gasps for air and little sobs France spoke to him.  
“You. Haven’t. Used. My. Human. Name. In. Years.” After he finished his sentence France broke off into even more sobs.  
“Francis Bonnefoy,” England started, still hugging France, “You are such a silly sod sometimes, I swear to all holy. Look- I will always, unconditionally, un-doubtly love you. And what you look like will never affect that. I give you my word as a gentleman. You need to stop doing this- you’re only hurting yourself and it’s for no reason. You will always be the most beautiful person to me. No matter how drunk, no matter how stupid or how fat you are I will always and forever love you.” England spoke slowly, making sure each word went in.

Francis pulled back and looked at England through his glazed over eyes and splotchy cheeks from tears.   
“Arthur, please don’t joke like that. It’s too cruel.”  
“I’m telling you the truth, Francis. I wouldn’t lie about something like that, not even I’m that horrid.”  
“But that’s the thing you’re not horrid at all. You’re perfect and that’s why I don’t believe what you’re saying. Why would you, Arthur Kirkland, the country with happy citizens, green eyes, beautiful hair, great personality love me. I’m a drunk, I’m fat, I’m ugly, I’m not liked by you or anyone, I’m weak, please don’t lie to me.” France finished in a whisper.  
“You’re not anything you just said Francis. I love you and honestly I’m not as perfect as you’ve made me in your head, but it means so much that you see me that way. You’re not fat and you’re not ugly and lots of countries like you. But you do drink a lot of wine, but I quite like it. You’re funny when you’re drunk, cute.” England laughed picturing a drunken France.  
“You’re not lying?” France asked, trying not to be too hopeful.   
“No I’m not, I swear to you Francis. You never have to do anything like that. I know it won’t stop straight away but I’ll help you okay?” France didn’t say anything. “Okay?” England repeated himself.  
“Okay.” France said back. England lent forward and gently kissed France on the lips.   
“I love you, Francis.” England said quietly, “I love you so fucking much you stupid fucking wanker.” He said with a smile on his face, “and never believe that I don’t.”  
“I love you too. Never leave me Arthur.”   
“I won’t I swear. Do you want to get some room service and watch some telly?”  
“Yhea, I’m a little hungry.”   
“Good. I like this- our first proper date.” I little smile crossed England’s face, “Even though it is a little bit crappy.”  
“As long as I’m with you, it’s never crappy. If I'm with you- it's perfect.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I don't think it's that good but I noticed there was a lack of FrUk eating disorder/ angst fanficition so I decided to write one. There needs to be more FrUk fanfiction. xx


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